


The Sum of Both

by hesychasm (Jintian)



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-31
Updated: 2002-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jintian/pseuds/hesychasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"In my time we knew not of Earthmen. I am pleased to see that we have differences. May we together become greater than the sum of both of us." --Surak</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sum of Both

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-"Sleeping Dogs."

  
"I don't smell anything," she said, but of course she can still smell them. Sato and Reed inside the decontamination chamber, the entire crew of humans and one Denobulan just outside. Human bodies and human-made objects, human food and human waste: scalp grease and dandruff, facial oils, sweat, shedded skin. A constant wash of scents that follows them, precedes them, surrounds them, unvanquished by nasal suppressants, detergents or deodorants. Vulcans and humans have been making each other's acquaintance for over a century, and some days she still has to breathe through her mouth to get to the next minute.

Beside her, two inches to the left, she can sense Sato relaxing in that rigid-spine posture the ensign always seems to wear, whether she's on the bridge or tucking into a leisurely dinner. T'Pol appreciates this kind of control over the body, not least because she practices it herself. The first step in ruling the mind and the emotions is, of course, ruling the physical shell in which they are contained.

"I think," says Reed, on Sato's other side, "I think I can breathe through my nose again."

"Congratulations," the ensign drawls. "And good timing."

Good timing indeed, T'Pol thinks. On this ship, they have had ample practice perfecting good timing into an art form. In the relatively short duration they have spent in space, she has already had more close calls with death than in the entire span of her life previous to leaving Earth.

Danger and risk are conditions of space exploration. That is only logical. What is not logical is how these humans have managed to increase the danger and risk -- by factors that are at the least exponential, she speculates -- on nearly every single away mission or first contact they have so far attempted. The events on the Klingon Raptor were merely typical. She and the two humans had been polarized on the issue of whether to help the ship's crew, and because of *their* altruistic urges, they had ended up trapped.

She has voiced these concerns already to Captain Archer, several times. She suspects he does take her more than half seriously, though his exact thoughts are often difficult to determine. Forced to interpret the enigmatic smiles and eye squints that Archer utilizes fully as often as spoken words, T'Pol admits she still has much to learn about the ways humans communicate.

And, of course, she must also admit that it was Archer's altruistic actions toward the Klingon officer that ultimately saved all of them, and achieved what Sato and Reed had wished all along. Actually, in this respect, the events on the Klingon Raptor were still typical. She knows they most probably will not be the last of their kind, either.

Sato shifts slightly, drawing her attention again. Their interaction on the Klingon ship was...unexpected, T'Pol thinks. She was already peripherally aware of the ensign's discomfort on away missions. This was the first time, however, that she'd heard the ensign speak of it so plainly.

"I envy you," the human woman said, and somehow T'Pol had realized that her normal reply, "Envy is illogical," would not, though expected, have been appropriate.

She knows there was an element of sexual arousal in Sato's response to the meditation exercise, despite its purpose as a calming method. T'Pol is familiar enough with arousal among human men. Tucker, Archer, even Reed to a lesser extent, have all provided her with examples to study. Signals of this sort are actually quite easy to interpret: unfocused eyes, quickened breathing, increased instances of motions that might be termed "restless," especially in proximity to her.

Along these lines, then, the encounter with Sato, a human woman, was at once recognizable and completely foreign. As yet, T'Pol is unable to verbalize just how. The futility of attempting to describe it intrigues her -- or at least, as much as a Vulcan can feel intrigued.

She thinks back to the moment on the Klingon ship, crouching on the floor in front of Sato, the ensign's thin hand loosely held between hers, the layers of perspiration and grime coating their clothing and both of their faces.

Sitting in the decontamination chamber, T'Pol searches for a term to describe her mental picture of the scene: two women touching each other in this small way, trapped in the belly of a hard, dark ship. She tries to isolate the most vivid aspect of the memory, hypothesizing that the key to categorizing the experience will be found if only she can find the right place to revisit.

What she sees is that moment when Sato's eyes were slowly opening, dark gaze meeting her own for a silent stretch that seemed to push against the walls of the ship, the tension of it strange and limitless before the other woman finally said, softly, "That was amazing."

But before she spoke, before the gentle suspension of that half-second was broken -- yes. There is the arousal T'Pol remembers. Parted lips and flushed cheeks, unevenness of breath.

And there is something else as well, she realizes now, an expression different from Archer's system of facial tics but still uniquely human. Something human and...indescribable.

Vulcans do not require the driving urge of the *pon farr* to mate, but there is little logic to sexual intercourse without necessity, or without the intention to reproduce. Humans, she knows, mate for pleasure as well as procreation. It is an activity inextricably bound up with their emotions, whether they deem it "casual sex" or -- she scans her memory for the phrase -- "making love."

T'Pol has never experienced either. She has never felt even remotely interested.

She suspects that Sato would be surprised if she voiced these thoughts. She has found that humans are often quite unaware that they project any emotions at all. It is an irony of Vulcan-human interaction, that the species without emotion is the one that is most able to detect it.

As she sits with the two humans now, T'Pol continues to ponder her memory of Sato, the eyes at first shut, lashes sweeping softly against her cheeks, then opening, revealing...what?

She contemplates the possibility that she may never find the appropriate description for it. Unsure what she thinks of that, T'Pol simply replays the scene in her mind. Over and over again, that same inscrutable, intriguing look. And all the while beside her in the decontamination chamber, Sato and Reed breathe, murmur, relax.

*

There is no dinner with the captain and the chief engineer scheduled the following day, so T'Pol takes her meal with the rest of the crew. She sits alone at a table near the window, the stars streaking by at warp speed, and cuts into her food with fork and knife.

"May I join you?" a voice says at her shoulder.

She looks up. "You may, Ensign Sato."

The other woman sets her tray down and takes a seat, posture as upright as usual. "You know," she says, picking up utensils, stirring the contents of her plate, "you can call me Hoshi. I realize Vulcans can be a bit...formal, but at least during meals the food goes down a lot easier with first names."

T'Pol slices through a carrot. "I will keep that in mind."

They eat without speaking for a few minutes. Eventually Hoshi fills the quiet with, "Seeing what Klingons call dinner makes me appreciate the chef's cooking all the more. I mean, worms and dog creatures?" She makes a face.

"Perhaps you would change your opinion of Klingon cuisine if you had a better occasion to try it."

Hoshi looks skeptical. "You might be right. I always thought I'd hate escargot, but when I finally had some I loved it."

"It is often advisable to be cautious when attempting new foods or customs," T'Pol observes, "but we *are* on a mission of exploration."

"True," Hoshi says. "I just...never thought I'd be letting a bunch of live worms explore my digestive system."

"I would imagine the experience is not pleasant for the worms either."

Hoshi looks surprised for a second, then breaks into a laugh. Three crewmembers at the next table turn at the sound, blinking when they see T'Pol sitting across from her.

Silence falls between them again. T'Pol is not bothered by it, though she has become accustomed to Archer and Tucker's garrulousness during mealtimes. She senses the ensign doesn't mind it either. Unlike many other human women, Hoshi does not seem unsettled by her company.

"Are you still interested in learning more conditioning techniques?" T'Pol asks.

Hoshi sits up even straighter. "Yes! When would be a good time for you?"

"I do not anticipate being occupied for the rest of the shift."

"You mean right now?" Hoshi smiles and puts her fork down. "Okay, then. No time like the present."

*

Unlike the chief engineer, Hoshi does not comment on the open flames. Instead, she sits quietly on the floor as T'Pol instructs her, folding her legs with awkward grace.

The ship's smells are muted in this private space, the candle scents evoking memories of Vulcan, its heat and gravity and arid reaches. Threading through it all now, though, is Hoshi, smelling like the dinner she has just eaten, the soap she must have used only a few hours ago, a faint musk that comes from neither.

"Give me your hand," T'Pol tells her, "close your eyes." Hoshi does. "Previously I asked you to picture a turbulent ocean. This time, imagine yourself balancing on a thin wire, with a strong wind all around, trying to push you off."

With her fingers, T'Pol explores the soft skin of Hoshi's palm, trying to press her own calmness through the brief points of contact. Conceptually, she has always found an odd disconnect in this idea, that one can transmit emptiness -- lack -- to another.

"You must steady yourself," she continues. "The wind will try to unbalance you. You must find a place of stillness and claim it as your own."

Hoshi's breathing slows, deepens. T'Pol watches the slight movement of her eyes beneath the closed lids, and gradually stops the motion of her own fingers until she is just barely touching the other woman's hand.

Then T'Pol closes her eyes as well, slipping easily into the serenity of deep meditation. The darkness here is warm and familiar, a different thing from the ship where they first began this exploration. She is unaware of time passing -- the moment itself is a piece of stretched and stretching time. A woman reaching upward.

When she finally opens her eyes again, she sees Hoshi doing the same, her face somehow closer than it was before. T'Pol slips her hand back across Hoshi's palm, brings her other hand up so that Hoshi's is pressed solidly between.

The other woman's breathing remains steady and even, but her eyes are shining. Again, something has slipped through the meditation. T'Pol studies her, and sees it is indeed that same secret, indescribable human emotion, flaring out at her like a newly lit candle.

Perhaps this time, T'Pol thinks, I will find its name.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism welcome.


End file.
